


painting the walls

by elphiethropp



Category: Six - Marlow/Moss
Genre: Body Modification, Gen, Self-Hatred, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-19
Updated: 2020-09-19
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:09:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26551885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elphiethropp/pseuds/elphiethropp
Summary: Katherine's body has never belonged to her. In this new life in a new century, she wants to change that.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 50





	painting the walls

**Author's Note:**

> I'm basically clearing out my fic graveyard: most of this was written over year ago. I knew less about the real Katherine Howard than I do now, and I tried to clear out any inaccuracies but also, it is a fic based on a comedy musical where she comes back to life and sings in a girl group, so take it with a grain of salt. Definitely based on musical!Katherine and not the real historical figure. Also because of the whole 'clearing out' thing, this is mostly unedited, and not as detailed as I planned it to be, so please take that into account.
> 
> There's no explicit detail but there IS mention of her past abuse. If you can listen to All You Wanna Do you should be okay, but if you think it'll trigger you in any way, please don't read. 
> 
> Do NOT look up what the piercing Jane mentions is. You can work it out from context. You don't need that image in your mind forever. I have nothing against people who have that, I basically just googled to find the most drastic piercing.

Katherine’s body had never belonged to her.

Mannox. Dereham. Culpeper. And, of course, Henry. They had all made it clear that she was a _thing_ , to be used by them when convenient and discarded when not.

And ever since waking up in this new world, that feeling had just intensified. Supposedly, they were all _free_ now; free to wear loose clothes, loose hair, free to show a frightening amount of skin. She didn't mind. She loved the show. She loved her costume. But so did hundreds of people online, and not all of their comments were friendly.

It wasn’t just that, though. Cameras had astounded her when she’d first found out about them, and she really did see the appeal of having a moment captured forever. But now they were infamous, all six of them. Not just for their show, but for being some of the incredibly few people that were known to have been resurrected. People wanted to see them, to see _her_ , at all times. They would interrupt her in the streets or worse: take photos. And it wasn’t like sitting for a portrait, with an artist spending weeks or months trying to make you look as beautiful as possible. Now, anyone with access to a phone or camera –and that was everyone– could take hundreds of photos in a few minutes. All angles, not just the flattering ones. In fact, some people actively tried to take unflattering photos. They would be sold to tabloids, or posted on the internet for a handful of 'likes'. People loved to see the famously beautiful looking... less so. And just like that, she became a _thing_ again, existing to be consumed.

It was exhausting to feel like that, a visitor in her own body and an unwelcome one at that. Sometimes she'd catch her own eye in the mirror and feel a sudden, violent wave of hatred towards herself, her body. What had happened to her wasn't her fault. She knew that, the rest of the queens made damn well sure she knew that, but still all she could see was the same scared child that she had been before she died. In this new world, this new life, she wanted to be someone different. She just wasn't sure how.

And then, one day, she saw her. A woman, maybe twice Katherine’s age, walking down the street opposite to the café where Katherine was sat reading. She was minding her own business at first, seemingly lost in her own world. Katherine’s eyes were drawn to her because of her appearance: there was more metal in the woman’s face than Anna had on her costume, most of the skin she had on show was covered with vibrant images —tattoos, she knew that now— and her hair was all the way down her back, a brighter blue than the sky above. She almost looked an entirely different species to the Tudor women of Katherine’s time. No matter how many times Katherine saw people like her, she didn’t think she’d ever get used to it.

But it was what happened next that really affected her: the woman passed a table of men who were taking a break from their building work, and one called after her. Then the others started. Katherine couldn’t hear them, but she didn’t need to: she’d been on the receiving end of taunts from people like them before. All she’d been able to do was ignore them, ignore the sick feeling and her shaking hands, and walk home as fast as her legs would allow her.

This woman didn’t do that. She turned around and said something, calmly, and then went straight back to walking. The man who had first yelled looked indignant, while the others were sniggering. The woman was entirely unperturbed. Katherine would give anything to know what she’d said. She would give anything to be like her.

This encounter popped into her mind nearly a week later when she was sitting in the hairdresser’s chair. The stylist was almost done trimming her hair: shorter than it had been, but still longer than she wished it was. And before the idea had fully entered her mind, she blurted out, “Would you be able to dye it for me?”

The stylist blinked. “Um. Maybe. I mean, yes, but it would cost extra. And we could do a skin test today, but you’d have to make another appointment for tomorrow.”

Katherine nodded, almost frantic. “Yes, let’s do that.”

“What colour?”

She briefly considered blue, but that might be bordering on creepy. Besides, it would clash with her costume. “Pink.”

And that was that: the stylist started going into details about bleach and allergic reactions and deep conditioning, and Katherine barely listened, just nodded when they paused. She didn’t expect the hair dye to actually change anything about her personality, of course, she wasn’t stupid. It was just a split-second decision to do something she thought was fun.

But when the hairdresser turned her around to view her new hair in the mirror, Katherine couldn’t stifle the gasp she made. She was the same person— but she wasn’t. The tiniest change had turned her from the girl in the mirror she’d hated in the last life and the new, into someone else. A different version of herself. It sounded silly, even in Katherine’s own head. But looking at herself and her new hair in the mirror was one of the first times it truly hit her: she was a new person in a new century, and she was _free_. A combination of the fact that this would be impossible in her past life and the sudden realization that this was the first choice about her body she'd made for herself ever.

She'd never considered that such a tiny change, such a tiny choice, could change her whole view of herself. Now Katherine was not a lady, or a queen, or a criminal, or a victim. It was the year 2019, and Katherine Howard was free to belong to herself only.

The feeling didn’t last forever, of course. After a disappointingly short time, the dye faded from magenta to peach and she had to get it redone. She went into it hoping that it would give her the same rush as it had the last time, but it didn't. The thrill was still there, but muted. Soon enough it was just part of her, part of the same old reflection in the mirror that she hated. That's when she decided to do something more drastic.

Ear piercings were the logical next step to her. They were more permanent, a bigger commitment. But she'd had them in her old life, too, so they weren't _too_ much of a risk. And she did like them. But looking at them didn't make her feel any different. Before she'd even left the shop, she'd made an appointment for the next day. And after that appointment, another one for a week later, and then another one. Soon she had a row of rings around her left ear, and tragus and earlobe piercings in both. For a while, that was enough: each new piercing reminding her that she was in charge, that this body belonged to _her_ and no one else.

But she just wanted to take it a tiny bit further.

When she came home with a stud in her nose, Jane and Anna exchanged pointed looks.

"Catherine's gonna stage an intervention soon, you know."

Katherine just rolled her eyes, and kept admiring her latest addition in the mirror. She looked seriously cool, anyone would have to admit it. Nothing like a pretty Tudor lady now.

"I'm serious," Jane pressed on. "She was telling me the other day that you can get addicted to body modification."

"I'm not a doctor or anything, but that doesn't sound right." Anna chipped in. "It looks good, by the way, Katherine."

"Thanks."

"No, seriously." Jane insisted, ignoring them. "We just don't want you to do anything permanent you'll regret, like getting your tongue split, or one of those Isabella piercings."

"I don't know what that is."

"Good. Don't find out."

Anna took out her phone, presumably to Google what the hell an Isabella piercing was. Katherine ignored her and turned to Jane.

"I'm not going to do anything drastic, Jane. I mean, if I ever decide I don't want these anymore, I can just take them out." _But I won't_ , she added silently.

Anna made a noise of disgust in the background, and Katherine made a mental note to absolutely not Google it.

“Why do _you_ know what that is, Jane?” Anna demanded.

“I watched a documentary on body modification. I wanted to get into Kate’s brain. And seriously, they cause nerve damage and everything—”

“If I promise not to get one of whatever the hell those are, will you _please_ drop the subject?”

Jane made a discontented noise, but changed the subject to that night’s _Coronation Street_ , leaving Katherine to replay she’d said. Because it was true, nothing she had done was permanent or drastic. Not really. And she didn’t want a split tongue or anything (she’d never tell Jane, but she had briefly considered it, ultimately deciding against it because she didn’t want to risk changes to her voice) but she did want something permanent, something that couldn’t be taken away from her.

And as much as she truly did want that, it was a far more daunting prospect. Maybe this time she didn’t want to go it alone.

So, after working up to the idea for a few weeks, she approached her cousin, who she knew (hoped, at least) was less likely to judge her.

“Anne?”

“Yeah?”

"I was thinking about getting a tattoo."

Anne slowly looked up from her phone. She didn't seem surprised, which was slightly surprising to Katherine herself. Hopefully it was just because she'd seen the escalation herself, and she hadn't been discussing her with Catherine and Jane, who were both constantly trying to convince her that piercings were the devils work. Catherine had sent her a link to an article about body modification addiction. Apparently, it _was_ a real thing. But not one that applied to Katherine, because when you've been through a beheading and a resurrection, _Psychology Today_ can't really have any actual idea of what's happening inside your brain.

"Katherine... are you sure that's a good idea?"

"Yes. Why wouldn't it be?"

“Well... Hair dye, I get. And the piercings too, I mean…” She gestured vaguely at her own nose, where her septum ring sat. “But hair dye can grow out, or be cut out. Piercings can be removed and heal over. A tattoo is permanent. It lasts forever, you can’t get rid of it.”

“Yeah, I actually know what permanent means, thanks, Anne.”

Anne rolled her eyes, but continued her interrogation. “What if you don’t like it?”

“I will.”

“And what about when you’re old? It’ll fade and sag and look awful, you don’t think you’ll regret it then?”

That one _did_ almost give Katherine pause. The idea that she might grow old this time, properly old, old enough for sags and wrinkles, hadn’t occurred to her. But she shook it off.

“When I’m old, I’ll have bigger things to worry about than the way a picture on my skin looks. Besides, you can get them topped up, I read about that.”

"Look, I know you've been on some kind of mission to get every square inch of your skin pierced... are you gonna carry that on? Get more and more tattoos until your whole body is covered?"

"Maybe I will! What's it to you?"

Anne had no response to that. They sat in silence for a few minutes, both of them fuming, almost daring the other to speak first. And like all arguments with her cousin, Katherine broke first. She had to make her understand. So she spoke her next words much more softly.

“It feels like… I’m an intruder. Like I don’t belong in my own body. Do you understand?”

Anne nodded, slowly. “A little bit, I guess? When I came back, I felt out of place. As though I shouldn’t be walking around. It took me ages to feel normal again.” She paused. “But, Kate, I did feel normal again. It just took time.”

“It’s different for me.” Katherine trailed off, looked desperately into Anne’s eyes, hoping she would understand.

“Because of…” Anne swallowed. “Because of _those_ _men_?” She almost spat the last two words, and Katherine was slightly surprised by her anger. They’d grown closer now than they had in the last life, but she hadn’t expected her cousin to have any real feelings about what had happened to her.

She didn’t answer, only nodded. Anne didn’t speak for a while, staring into the distance, looking lost in thought. Finally, she spoke.

“I do care about you, Katherine. I want you to be happy, and if this is how, then…”

“It is.”

“I want to come with you.”

So that was how Katherine Howard and Anne Boleyn ended up at a tattoo studio at what Anne called ‘asscrack of dawn’ in order to have the whole day ahead of them.

“You booked?” Asked a bored-looking, heavily tattooed woman at the front desk.

“Yeah, uh, Howard? It was a whole day session?” Katherine’s voice was a lot higher than normal, and she tried to pitch it down to make herself seem less nervous. The woman she was assuming to be the tattoo artist either didn’t notice or didn’t care.

“You look a little vanilla,” The artist said, looking Anne up and down. “Have you had any experience with body modification at all?”

Anne shook her head, lips pursed together in a clear attempt to not laugh at being called 'vanilla'.

“No. But I’m only here to hold her hand.”

The woman shrugged, and signalled them both to follow her down the hall.

“My head was removed from my body,” Anne whispered to Katherine once she was out of earshot. “That’s one major body modification, no?”

Katherine ignored her. Her heart was pounding as they entered a side room marked ‘consultation’. 

"So." The tattoo artist started, taking out a sketchbook and gesturing for them to sit down. "Any ideas for what you want?"

"Yes." Katherine took a deep breath. She'd planned for this, she'd thought about it so often she was surprised the image hadn't just materialised on her skin. It was the only fitting tribute for her taking back her own life. "A rose. _With_ thorns." 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope this was okay! The only other Six fic I tried to write is way less finished than this, and I can't see myself writing any more for the fandom in the future, so this is probably gonna be the only Six fic I ever post.


End file.
